


To Survival

by somegunemojis



Series: Tender Mercies [28]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:42:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26270596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somegunemojis/pseuds/somegunemojis
Summary: What can you even say to your dead best friend's living best friend?
Relationships: Bettino Tahan & Rainer Gersten
Series: Tender Mercies [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893175





	To Survival

February 2019, VR Italy

It’s nearing daylight. Bettino hasn’t yet slept, and the flakes of crystalline snow tumbling occasionally to the ground tend to tangle in his eyelashes, and fall from the leather of his jacket. They bite at the tips of his ears and his nose, and they melt into his shirt at the nape of his neck. He’s been wandering the city for hours.Very few signs of life have popped up. They rarely do, this time of year, this time of night. The snow comes down a little fast now, and he lifts his head to peer about, trying to get his bearings, figure out just how far he’s wandered while letting himself get lost in his own head. He lets out a long cloud of breath-- backlit against the streetlight, it glitters like he’d just exhaled a cloud of diamond dust. Memories roll around in his head so violently that his feet pause.

There, behind him, a single footstep, just the faintest scuffle on the uneven cobblestone of the street. Bettino doesn’t turn to look, and forces himself not to tense, either. Instead he watches the cloud of his breath dissipate, and sets a meandering pace down the street. Now that he’s listening for them, he can hear the steps following along behind him. They’re very quiet. Bettino leads his shadow down the street, and then almost absentmindedly turns down an alley, stepping into the shadow of the nearest stoop. The figure, clad in black, steps into the mouth of the alley and curses under his breath when he finds it empty. The familiar rasping voice makes Bettino’s blood run cold. 

The figure steps forward, probably intending to check down all of the side streets, and when he passes him Bettino steps out of the shadows and pins him with the barrel of his m9, right between the shoulder blades, with a soft, “hands up. Turn around, slowly.” 

Rainer Gersten looks as horrifically pale and skeletal as he ever did when he complies. In the dim light from the street behind Bettino, he looks like a shade. He looks like someone that’s hunted him back to Verona, to drag him down to hell. Rainer’s lips peel back from his teeth in that familiar rictus grin, five years older and with a few more scars, but his voice holds the same grit, the same vaguely wondering, good-natured affection, “well I’ll be damned.”

“You already are,” the response rolls out of him, almost pre-programmed from how many times they’ve done this little song and dance. The barrel of his gun doesn’t waver from where it’s pointed directly at where Rainer’s heart is. The humor doesn’t leave the madman’s face.

“Still sharp as ever, I see.” The smile on his face slips into something chagrined. “I’ve been looking for you, you know? But I didn’t think I’d actually find you here, of all places. And if I did, I didn’t think you’d be quite so… alert.” He gestures, vaguely, with his open palm, at the gun trained on him. 

Bettino lowers it incrementally, looking at him straight on instead of down the sights on the barrel. Dryly, he responds, “I have paranoia.”

The other man’s jaw works almost imperceptibly as he visibly forces himself not to tout another familiar line: it’s not paranoia if they’re out to get you. Instead, he lets a long sigh roll from him, and without lowering his hands he murmurs, “I thought they had buried you, too.” 

Something in his throat constricts. Rossi. How swiftly the light had gone out of his eyes. The gritty feeling of dust sticking to the tacky, drying blood on his face. The cold cuffs, how the world had swirled just out of his own control for months. The emptiness in the life he’d left since then. “Maybe they did,” murmured like an admission of guilt.

There’s a long stretch of silence. Rainer puts his arms down, slowly. Then he reaches out and puts his hand on top of the barrel of the gun, pushes it down and takes it from Bettino’s loose grip. He puts the safety back on, shucks the bullet out of the chamber, and puts it neatly back into his shoulder holster, and then zips up his jacket. Pats him on the chest, and leaves his hand there for a couple breaths. The expression on his face is serious, brows furrowed, but his voice is light when he finally declares, “well, you don’t make the most convincing corpse I’ve ever seen. Say goodbye to your career in acting, handsome.”


End file.
